


Escape

by Celeste_19



Series: Lyrics Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addict Stiles Stilinski, Drug Use, Explosions, Future, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Memories, Needles, Overdose by Grandson, Panic Attack, Professor Derek, Rogue Pack, Self-Harm, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Song Lyrics, Songfic, expect the worst, im sorry, no i'm not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste_19/pseuds/Celeste_19
Summary: -The funeral was one week after the explosion.Stiles would have never expected this day to come anytime soon, and the realization was just hitting him as he began to tie the black tie around his neck, staring at the hollow eyes of his reflection in the mirror.-Stiles faces his worst nightmares, and there is nothing that could make this scenario better. He needs to escape; he needs to get away from the chaos of Beacon Hills. But the new life he finds himself in is not one of relief and solace.





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the song "Overdose" by grandson! (Y'all should check it out before reading, or just in general because it's a great song!) WARNING: this chapter mentions panic attacks!

The funeral was one week after the explosion.

Stiles would have never expected this day to come anytime soon, and the realization was just hitting him as he began to tie the black tie around his neck, staring at the hollow eyes of his reflection in the mirror.

He could hear Scott downstairs shuffling around, patiently attempting to wait for Stiles to come down the stairs so they could leave. He couldn’t get himself to move out the bathroom door though, a light layer of sweat coating Stiles’ forehead as panic began setting in.

It had been a week of numbness, a week of blankly staring at walls, living in the foreign-feeling house of his best friend. Sometimes, he would sneak off and walk through the shell of his former house. He didn’t realize how much noise two people could possible make in a house, yet he was coming to the realization of just how much silence there was when only one person was left.

A quiet knock on the bathroom door yanked Stiles out of his crashing thoughts, head turning to see Scott peaking his head out with a solemn look plastered on his face. He could probably smell the panic settling in to Stiles’ persona.

“It’s time to head out,” Scott finally said after a few seconds of raw silence, Stiles numbly nodding as he followed Scott out of the house and into the passenger seat of his mother’s pale blue jeep. He couldn’t trust himself to drive safely, and even if he could, he couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t just turn and run as far as his gas could take him. Scott slid into the driver’s seat.

The drive was silent, Scott looking over to make sure Stiles was okay every few minutes. It only took a few turns to pull up on the small cemetery. The sun was far too bright and cheery for such a day, the two boys having to shield their eyes as they stepped out the jeep and walked towards the large group of people standing in the center.

Dozens of police officers surrounded the small grave, many showing up from out of town cities to pay their respects to one of the most devoted and praised sheriff’s anyone had ever met. Many greeted Stiles with a firm handshake and words of consolation, yet the words didn’t seem to reach his ears. Stiles blindly nodded respectfully to each empty phrase as he was pulled by Scott to his reserved seat in the front on the open lawn.

The rest of the pack was there as well, even Derek coming to pay his respects and be support for Stiles. They all sat around him, Scott by his side with his hand firmly on Stiles’ shoulder. Honestly, Stiles wasn’t sure if the hand was to keep him calm, or keep him from running.

Once everyone was seated or calmly standing around the broken dirt, Parrish came up to speak first, paying his respects and speaking of much better times and memories. Each member of the department came up, telling outrageous stories with unfallen tears in their eyes.

Through each grueling speech or memory, Stiles’ eyes refused to leave the fancy marble headstone the department pitched in to get. The dark stone was a definite contrast to the harsh silver words scrawled down the face.

_John ‘Sheriff’ Stilinski_

_Beloved Father and Husband_

Panic, yet again, began slowly building up inside Stiles’ chest as his eyes finally broke from the stone only to make eye contact with the deep hole in the ground. It was surrounded in beautiful flowers, many rows being vibrant red poppies, his mom’s favorite. He didn’t even want to look across at the other dark headstone next to his dad’s, now visualizing both his parents laying below the ground next to each other. His breathing became harsher.

Luckily, the speeches wrapped up soon, everyone now moving around and speaking in small groups quietly. Stiles could feel eyes staring daggers of sympathy into him, see the faces of pity as family friends and police buddies passed to leave. There was no one left in his family, he was the last.

Stiles was yet again tugged out of his thoughts by Scott gently shaking his shoulder, the rest of his pack now standing around him. He had no clue how long they had even been there, yet they didn’t seem to mind, and it didn’t much matter to Stiles at the moment.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked Stiles as he stood from his chair.

“No,” Stiles shakily spoke, which was the most he had spoken in the last twenty-four hours. Honestly, he probably hadn’t spoken more than ten words in the past week. Not since he had sprinted to his house in a panic and saw the chaos that had occurred. His mind traced back to that horrific moment.

* * *

 

_The pack meeting was going smoothly, and the fifteen boxes of pizza were definitely a bonus, and most definitely empty by the second hour._

_Lydia had been breaking down the newest group of wolves to enter their small town, a small group of rogues with a vendetta against everyone in the world. Great._

_Everyone met up right after school, and it was already getting dark. It was time to split up for the night and meet again tomorrow to figure out the plan of action for the random rogue pack slinking around their preserve. They all exited Derek’s loft and started towards their vehicles, Stiles’ vehicle the closest._

_The second the jeep came to life, Stiles heard the frantic calls of the police scanner. Different deputies were breaking over each other in panic over some disastrous fire. Stiles listened for a bit before hearing the deputy tell the others where ground zero was._

_His heart dropped and his blood boiled in absolute terror. He punched the gas, his jeep jumping forward into rapid movement, the rest of the pack turning in panic to watch as the jeep scrambled out of the preserve land and unsteadily toward the main town._

_Stiles made a fifteen-minute drive a three-minute dash as he saw the dozens of flashing lights sprawled around the front road of his house. The fire department was racing to put the rest of the now manageable fire out at the Stilinski household, as well as dampen the minor burns to the neighboring houses._

_The jeep jerked to a stop and Stiles rushed out, Parrish attempting and failing to stop him from running straight to the singed shell of the house. As he passed the crowds of people and police, Stiles heard the words of the few bystanders._

_“That house must be completely gutted,”_

_“Wow, that was a horrible explosion,”_

_“What do you think happened?”_

_Stiles ran through the hole where the door used to be to find everything gone. Everything was charred and blackened, and it only seemed to get worse the closer he got to the stairs. The second story was gone. Well, it wasn’t technically gone. Most of it was now on the first floor._

_That is when Stiles saw the charred familiar outline on the ground, near what Stiles could guess was chunks of his own room door. The bomb. It was in his room. It was meant for Stiles._

_Stiles’ lungs stopped working, his eyes growing wide and wild as he clawed his way out of the still smoking house, Scott catching him in the front lawn as his legs gave out. The pack must have followed Stiles home after seeing him crazily drive away._

_Scott was talking, maybe even yelling at him, but it was all muffled and cut. He could hear Scott attempting to calm him, as well as yell at the pack as they came rushing behind him._

_“Just breathe Sti-“_

_“-the rogue pack-“_

_"-ome on Stiles-"_

_“-planted bomb-“_

_His sight was already fading, the lack of oxygen catching up to him as his lungs burned for him to breathe, but he couldn’t. Not when his dad wasn’t anymore._

* * *

 

Stiles came back to laying on the ground, the pack all in varying degrees of panic as they crouched around him. He could feel the warm grass underneath him, the sun beating down on him. Oh right, the funeral.

“Stiles please, deep breaths,” Erica spoke softly, setting her hand on Stiles’ thigh in comfort. With the help of Scott and Derek, Stiles was able to sit up, his breath sputtering as he attempted to breathe calmly.

“I can’t be here,” Stiles spoke softly to himself, shaking his head as he was helped into a standing position, his legs still wobbling. Looking around for the first time, Stiles could see that there were only a handful of the dozens of people remaining, so at least not everyone saw him break down in sheer panic.

“We can leave now. I can take you to my house and we can do something else, or we can talk, or-,” Stiles stopped listening to Scott’s rambling. He didn’t mean the cemetery.

“No, I can’t be here,” Stiles grabbed his keys from Scott’s hand, shakily rushing toward his beloved jeep and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Stiles! What are you doing!?” He could hear the various members of the pack yelling as they rushed toward the blue vehicle, but it was too late. The jeep rolled forward and didn’t stop, Stiles passing the remains of his scorched home one last time before taking a final right turn past the large “Thanks for Visiting Beacon Hills” sign.

He couldn’t be there anymore, not where he had lost both his parents. He couldn’t stand to be reminded of their tragedies every time he passed the hospital, or the police department, or the scorched shell of what used to be their home. Tears were now rapidly streaming down his face, Stiles’ eyes bloodshot and hands gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

No, he had to get out.


	2. The First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Quite a few shots later and Stiles was feeling a bit better, but maybe that was just the light buzz of alcohol talking. As time went on, two younger people sat down not far from him, cheerily ordering their drinks as if they were here every night. They were a stark contrast to the emptiness he felt.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!! WARNING: mentioned drug use! (not shown)

_I’ve been way too numb now_

_I’m living on the run now_

_Oh I gotta get out of this town somehow_

A week passed, and Stiles was willing to drive even longer if it meant he could get farther from that wretched town. But, luckily, he could feel the familiar breeze that meant he was by the coast. The opposite coast from Beacon Hills, California. That should hopefully be far enough for now.

It was getting late, so Stiles parked his car at a shady motel and walked the small street of shops that were bustling with life. They all seem so happy, so carefree. Stiles couldn’t understand.

He chose the first bar he saw, striding in and taking residence in a small stool in the back corner. Surprisingly they didn’t even ask for ID, just asked for his order. It was a minor blessing, considering Stiles was technically still a senior in high school.

Quite a few shots later and Stiles was feeling a bit better, but maybe that was just the light buzz of alcohol talking. As time went on, two younger people sat down not far from him, cheerily ordering their drinks as if they were here every night. They were a stark contrast to the emptiness he felt.

The younger of the two, a petite girl with doe-like eyes and puffy brown hair, peered over at Stiles’ isolated form and waved. The older one, a boy with raven-black hair and crystal blue eyes, looked back with a small smile before sliding all the way down the bar until he was next to Stiles.

“Hey, you look like you could use someone, I’m Maddox and this over here is Ella,” the older one, Maddox, spoke softly, pointing to the girl by his side. She couldn’t have been older than twelve, and her face looked even younger. Maddox, on the other hand, looked about Stiles’ age. Stiles decided to go along with it. He needed to get out of his own head anyways.

“I’m Stiles,” he greeted with a small smile, which took more effort than he thought.

“Stiles? That’s a weird name,” the girl, Ella, whispered to herself. Maddox smacked her arm along with a quiet “Be nice,” before turning back to Stiles.

“So, you must be new here, do you have somewhere to stay? Where are you from? Don’t you dare trust the Oaks Inn right down the street, it looks pretty shady, but honestly it’s even worse than it looks!” Maddox animated, his warm personality radiating in the small corner of the bar.

“Uh, I’m from California, so yeah new. I can find another hotel then,” Stiles rambled over his words, having ran out of Adderall a few days ago. It didn’t help to be stuck in a small jeep for 90 percent of the journey. Yet he kept his small grin to not seem like such an asshole; they seemed nice and he didn’t feel like scaring anyone away.

“Stay with us for the night, or at least until you get your bearings! Are you staying for good? We have a small apartment a few miles into town, so if you don’t mind a little bit of clutter, you’re welcome to join us! It’s just me, Ella, and our fish Pocky.” Maddox continued, and Stiles found himself nodding in agreeance. To be honest, he hadn’t slept in a bed since Scott’s house, having lived in his vehicle to save money for gas. It sounded nice, and he felt he could trust these people.

“Okay,” was all Stiles could muster up, them all finishing their drink and making small talk before heading out. Stiles figured out Ella was indeed twelve, and twenty-year old Maddox had taken her in a couple years ago off the streets. Apparently, her parents didn’t want a ‘burden’. Maddox, on the other hand, was dumped out of foster care the second he turned 18. He’d been on his own since then. It also turned out Ella was drinking a sprite, not some strong vodka like Stiles had first assumed. That made him feel slightly better.

They decided to walk to the small apartment complex, Stiles deciding it’d be easy to pick up his jeep in the morning. As they walked through the dark street, Maddox pulled him back to walk slower with him behind Ella, who very soon broke into a sprint into the complex, jumping up the few flights of stairs and rushing through a door.

“Hey man, it looks like you’ve been through some shit, and I don’t want your stay to be for nothing. So, do you want something to take the edge off? At least for tonight?” Maddox whispered to Stiles, them making a slow ascent up the stairs to the small apartment.

“What?” was all Stiles could say, confused and curious about the offer.

“I can give you a hit of pretty much anything, knock you out for the night. Sorry dude but you kind of look like you’ve been up for ten years, you need a break,” Maddox smirked as he opened the door, seeing Ella already spread out on the small futon, channel surfing through tired eyes.

“I don’t know…” Stiles spoke softly as he toed off his shoes by the door. Maddox just shook his head with a huffed laugh.

“Okay, but if you change your mind anytime tonight, my room is the last one down the hall. Don’t worry about waking me up, I don’t mind!” Maddox led Stiles to their tiny spare bedroom, which contained a small bed and a set of drawers by the dusty window.

Stiles nodded as Maddox wished him a goodnight before heading to his own room, Ella now passed out on the couch in the living room.

Sleeping was not something that came easy anymore, and tonight was not any different. He attempted to lay down and close his eyes, yet whenever his eyelids shut, he saw nothing but the dark carcass of his dad laying in the ashes of his family home. He could hear his dad screaming as the bomb exploded, and it was all his fault. His eyes shot open as he heard his dad screaming his name.

“Maddox,” Stiles whispered as he gently pushed the door to the other room open, peeking in to find the older boy still awake, sitting on the ground with his back to his bed. “Come on in,” Maddox spoke softly, already knowing this was going to happen. Stiles saw him open the large wooden box by his side, pulling out different trinkets and unknown substances.

Stiles took a small step into the dark room, taking a deep breath before closing the door behind him. This would be the first time Stiles slept through the night in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Comments are always welcome, I always want to know what you like, and what I could improve on!


	3. The Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -He began sprinting, his book bag dangling helplessly on his shoulder as he took a few turns, following the stench of the boy he had once considered pack. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!

_5 Years Later_

The plane ride was a bit bumpy, and to be honest, Derek was silently praying through the entire flight. It was definitely the worst part of long-distance traveling. He attempted to keep himself distracted through the flight though by writing the upcoming lesson plans.

He didn’t want to be unprepared when coming into this new position; Derek didn’t need the entire history department of Columbia University glaring daggers at him. It had taken him years to get the job, and he didn’t want to lose it on the first day.

One short cab ride later and he found himself at his apartment, only a few blocks from his career, and began to settle in.

It was smaller than his loft, yet clean and perfect for Derek’s permanent residence, or as long as he could keep his teaching career. He didn’t have many things, anything he had being brought in two suitcases and a carrying bag, but it was the least of his worries.

Derek looked at the time on his watch, realizing it was already getting late. He decided to scribble out a few more details on his lesson plans, then head to bed. Derek didn’t need to be exhausted for his first department meeting tomorrow anyways, and he wanted to make sure he was prepared to discuss everything he physically could about mythological history; it was a new class after all, and Derek had the honor to teach it first.

* * *

 

Soon classes started up as the summer came to an end. Within two faculty meetings in his department, Derek had made fairly good ties and it didn’t seem like anyone wanted to kick him out. Yet.

A few weeks passed smoothly, Derek unexpectedly getting two full classes. He hadn’t expected many to sign up for the course; it wasn’t a core credit, and it wasn’t exactly necessary for any major. Yet, he now had the struggle/honor of teaching over 80 students about the history of mythology, and all the lore of the past. With this influx of students crowding his classes, came the grading of all the work he expected them to complete.

Thinking back now, he should have just stuck with a few exams and quizzes and that’s it. It would have been easier and quicker to grade than the 80 5-page essays on the origin of Greek myth and Hesiod’s contribution.

This was the reason Derek ended up spending hours past his last class grading and filing papers, astonished at the magnitude of well written essays, as well as appalled at the pure stupidity and lack of knowledge in many others. He’d even seen a few exact copies, the only difference being the name on the front page.

Derek left the campus way past dark, drained and feeling the beginning symptoms of a migraine. He didn’t think they were possible since he was a wolf, but apparently school could do that to you. He just needed to get home and crash out before tomorrow morning’s class. Who the hell thought 7:30 classes were a good idea?

The alpha walked down the side of the dimly lit road, his apartment only a few blocks away, passing few people here and there. A few little shops were still open, the bars all filled with tipsy humans. But these aren’t what caught Derek’s sudden attention.

He looked around wildly for a second, his steps stumbling to a stop. There was a scent, so familiar that he would remember it anywhere. It was ingrained within his brain, deep in his memories, and Derek thought it was forever going to stay that way. Yet, as he kept walking down the sidewalk, the scent of his past grew increasingly stronger.

He began sprinting, his book bag dangling helplessly on his shoulder as he took a few turns, following the stench of the boy he had once considered pack. He couldn’t even control himself as his eyes shifted to their alpha red haze, glancing at every little movement around himself for a familiar face.

Derek came to a stuttering stop in a small alleyway, no heartbeats or sign of people in sight. Peering around the dark alley, Derek only saw the grimy clutter-filled ground. Looking closer, he saw the remnants of needles.

He wasn’t technically surprised; this side of town was known for its drugs. What left him confused and convinced he was hallucinating was the faint hint of none other than Stiles Stilinski, which made absolutely no sense.

He couldn’t be here. I mean, technically he could be anywhere, none of the pack could figure out where he ran to so many years ago. But still, the chances of Derek ending up in the same city, well that was impossible.

Derek shook his head, turning around to slowly finish his journey home. His mind had to be messing with him. For tonight, he was going to blame it on the migraine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter is shorter than any of the others in the future, and was the final set up to when shit gets real! comments and concerns are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> I chose red poppies due to them being the national flower of Poland, and Stiles' ancestry is Polish! Hope y'all enjoyed this first chapter! Please tell me any suggestions, critiques, or grammar errors you find! It would be much appreciated!


End file.
